


rare is this love; keep it covered

by eldritch_beau



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Consecuted!Caleb AU, M/M, caleb being soft, idiots in love!!!, navigate flirting and other perils, past trauma rears its ugly head :(, this is just all round essek angst, this really rapidly got out of control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritch_beau/pseuds/eldritch_beau
Summary: Shadowhand Essek used to be happily married once. Before things fell apart.He tries to forget.Until Caleb starts toremember.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Essek Thelyss, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 162
Kudos: 985





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this idea was born in the [shadowgast] tumblr gc and I want to thank everyone there but mainly @frozengayavocado for indulging my consecuted!Caleb madness

It started with something inconsequential. It wasn’t supposed to count, or even stick— but it _did_ . When they were in the Nein’s Den, in their library where Essek has spent more afternoons and evenings than he’s willing to count, and Caleb sat next to him, eyes trained on their spellbooks, transcribing dunamancy sigils with the diligence of a fascinated student and a faint smile on his lips— Essek should not be finding Caleb intriguing, or even attractive for that matter, but there is something captivating about this man, this... _human_ who single-handedly soothed a wound inflicted by the Empire, who brought hope back to the Dynasty ...and whose idea of ‘something impressive’ was a cat’s paw opening the door for them.

 _Fascinating_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

It’s easy to get distracted by how the candlelights illuminate his features, the loose strands of hair framing his face and his bright eyes as they flit from one rune to the next. “...beautiful” Caleb says to himself, hard at work as he scrawls away in his spellbook and it is, _he_ is. Beautiful.

Essek’s eyes linger a second too long on Caleb’s mouth and his heart leaps in his chest when Caleb’s smile gets even wider. He feels a tug of longing that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

And guilty. It also makes him feel so guilty.

“This is simply marvellous,” Caleb says, blissfully unaware of Essek’s line of thought, “dunamcy is so interesting and infinite in its complexities I wish I could spend my time here forever in this library with your spellbook, Shadowhand.”

 _Ah, my spellbook but not me,_ Essek thinks treacherously and stuffs that thought down before it can bloom into a stronger sentiment.

“Maybe someday,” Essek finds himself saying instead, “you have such an affinity for it” and watches, fascinated, as the paleness of Caleb’s face is replaced by a fresh flush of red. He wants to ask if it’s normal for humans to change colour so ardently but Caleb looks mildly embarrassed so Essek doesn’t press it.

“I’m afraid I cannot demonstrate the skills I have learnt today,” Caleb says as he closes their spell-books and hands Essek’s over with a soft smile. Refusing to meet his eyes. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the components. I will have to go buy some silver-dust before I can—”

“You can borrow mine,” Essek interjects, although it isn’t like him to do it. But he wants Caleb to look at him, _why won’t he look at him?_

“ _Ja,_ no,” Caleb says, shifting in his chair so he is facing Essek, “I wouldn’t want to impose. We already exploit your generosity, Shadowhand. Besides,” and finally, _finally_ he meets Essek’s gaze, “I’m aware you are partial to your silver-dust reserves.”

That draws Essek up short, “Oh?” he says, quirking a brow.

He had never voiced it. Surely not in the presence of the Nein, he wouldn’t indulge them in information that was so personal to him. Silverdust was the colour of his mother’s eyes, born a farmer and now long buried in the ground. He always carried a little too much on him, like holding on to it would help hold on to her. How would Caleb, of all people, know of his preference for silverdust? Suspicion clouds his mind.

Have they been… scrying on him?

Caleb instinctively draws away, fumbling, “I’m sorry, Shadowhand. I don’t mean to presume… Just the other day, Jester was talking of gemdust, perhaps I got confused. I’m usually good at remembering things— this is most unusual. I didn’t mean to offend you, I apologize.”

He looks so earnest that Essek almost believes him. Almost.

“You can use mine,” Essek says again, reaching into his pouch and pulling out a handful of silverdust, “just this once.”

“Uh…” Caleb looks at him then, eyes bright and unsure and Essek only extends his hand further and hopes his face isn’t betraying his feelings. “Go on,” he says, “I insist” and Caleb hesitates a moment before taking it almost reluctantly, his fingertips brushing Essek’s palm. Featherlight. It sends something alight in Essek’s veins that he dare not name.

“It’s just silverdust, Widogast,” Essek says, to alleviate the tension in the room, “It won’t hurt you. And neither will I.”

“Thank you. I didn’t mean to offend—”

“You haven’t.” Essek reassures, smiling. It’s so easy to smile at Caleb, he has to work to make sure he isn’t smiling _too much,_ just enough to be polite. “You are an excellent student. Perhaps you are more perceptive than any of us give you credit for. ”

Caleb just shakes his head ruefully, “A student is only as good as their teacher.”

“Then you’re going to be nothing short of great at this,” Essek teases, but he might as well have been stating the truth. Caleb is unnaturally good at dunamancy. His casting of the spell is _almost_ perfect, would’ve been _actually_ perfect if he hadn’t been so miserly with the silverdust— but the wizard arrests Essek’s attention as he casts the spell, his face so focused and his somatic movements so graceful. Almost effortless. 

He turns and smiles at Essek, a full and open gaze, waiting for his reaction. He looks years younger in that moment, his eyes are so bright, so carefree. So beautiful. Essek’s aware of his sudden sharp intake of breath and he hopes desperately that Caleb did not notice it.

“Very good, Widogast” the Shadowhand nods encouragingly, cursing how strangled his voice sounds. His heart is so loud against his ribcage he suspects not only Caleb but everyone in the Xorhouse could hear it, and _know._ Know how Essek feels about this wizard. Know how much he… _he wants him._ Has wanted him for a while now, Luxon help him. His heart picks up pace as he suddenly realizes that Caleb has not broken eye-contact. He is staring at Essek still. Has perhaps seen the want, the turmoil that Essek forgot to hide.

“Caleb,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper and his bright blue eyes still transfixed on Essek, “you can call me Caleb.”

“Caleb,” Essek repeats, liking how it rolls off his tongue, “then you can call me Essek.”

“I would like that… Essek” Caleb’s accent is so foreign yet so endearing when he says his name that Essek has to swallow to stop himself from accidentally asking Caleb to say it again. He takes an instinctive step forward, not realizing how close he’s glided to Caleb. Why does he have to be so greedy? Or did Caleb step closer too? Does Caleb know? Does he understand how utterly wretched it makes him feel to want him? To want Caleb and not be able to trust him. Or even himself. He isn’t supposed to want. Not again. 

Not after what happened last time.

Oh but he does, doesn’t he? Being around Caleb is like playing with fire. He wants this man he isn’t supposed to want. Wants his trust. His affection too. The Bright Queen could be scrying right now. The whole court could break into another scandal if they knew how Essek felt about him. They would all say he’s too easily swayed by his emotions. He could lose his hard-earned position of the Shadowhand. Den Thelyss could discard him. Dissenters could hurt him. Worse, they could hurt _Caleb_ to manipulate him. And worse still is the sense of betrayal he feels deep in his stomach to a man he used to love only a little over three decades ago.

He swore he wouldn’t love again, swore it to himself in the dark of the night when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest. Only grieve. What is the use? When it only breaks your heart and leaves your bed cold and alone and… so empty. It only breaks you in the end. You only lose. But is this ...love? Or mere infatuation? Surely, the later. He cannot fall in love. He cannot, he cannot _he must not._ Least of all with Caleb Widogast.

Essek _should_ know better.

But Caleb is too close and his lashes are so long (how has Essek not noticed it before?) and Essek’s throat feels dry and his eyes keep darting to Caleb’s lips and he is sure Caleb knows, he must know. Essek is aware that he’s leaning forward, closer still… he can’t help himself. 

And strangely, Caleb is too.

“Caleb, I—” he starts to say, his breath ghosting against Caleb’s lips. So close. An _almost_. Within the reach of a hair’s breadth— he could kiss him.

And just then, a very second by a loud noise of something heavy falling down the stairs rings from the centre of the household, accompanied with a painful groan. It breaks the trance and Essek has never been more grateful. Or more despondent.

“I’m okay!” comes a shaky reassurance and Caleb pulls away then, searching Essek’s eyes for… _something_. Something Essek isn’t sure he wants to give.

“I should probably go,” Essek says before Caleb can say anything. He gestures towards the source of the noise, “and you should probably check on your friend.”

“ _Ja,_ yes” Caleb says, his shoulders slouching a little and the openness slips from his eyes, replaced by a sad sense of formality, “thank you… Essek.” he says, like he’s testing the waters of an unfamiliar sea, “I am in your debt again.”

“Mmhmm,” Essek says, turning away so he can breathe. They are going on a dangerous mission again tomorrow, far north than Essek has ever cared to venture and northern still. A sliver of worry takes root in Essek’s chest and blooms into a lump inside his throat. He looks over his shoulder, and speaks before he can change his mind. 

“Keep yourself alive, Caleb.” he says, and then he’s gone.

That night, Essek rechecks all his security spells (they haven’t been breached), reaffirms the functionality of his anti-scrying pendant and tosses and turns in a bed that feels entirely too large, and worries for Caleb Widogast, this wizard that he has known for barely a month; like he used to worry for _someone else_ more than a century ago.

—

They don’t mention what _almost_ happened between them.

Caleb returns, safe and sound. And acts like it never happened, so Essek obliges just the same. There is a nearly healed scar on the side of his face, however. 

Essek doesn’t ask. But his gaze lingers.

“A direwolf’s claw. On our way from Uthodurn to Kravaraad.” Caleb supplies, not looking up from his notebook, “Nothing fatal, Caduceus healed it but I’m afraid it’ll leave a mark.”

“I’m glad you’re mostly unharmed,” Essek says, trying not to show too much of his relief on his face, but he isn’t sure he succeeds. 

“ _Mostly_ ,” Caleb says as he stops transcribing and gives Essek a sidelong glance.

“It adds ...character.” Essek smiles slowly, and is rewarded with sound of Caleb’s playful chuckle at that is almost worth sitting beside a human from the Empire and pining like a fool for what he cannot have. He looks away, only to notice the new scarf Caleb is wearing. A nice, soft blue.

“It’s a nice blue,” Essek says.

“Oh, um. Th-thank you,” Caleb fumbles for a second, cheeks reddening slightly, “You like the colour?”

 _It brings out your eyes,_ Essek almost thinks aloud but stops himself at the very last second. “I am partial to it,” he gives, “perhaps a little bit.”

“That’s nice to know” Caleb says, still busy transcribing.

But Essek's eyes keep slipping to the scar that now lined his face and how close it cuts next to the vein that stands out against Caleb’s pale skin, running down the side of his neck.

So the next spell Essek teaches Caleb is one that can freeze time around him like a shield as a reaction, once every short rest.

Essek hopes it’s enough.

—

He doesn’t know how or when, but he has come to favour the Xorhouse and it's unpredictable occupants. In contrast to the espionage and underhanded games and constant belittling and one-upmanship of the Dynasty's Court, the Xorhouse is a welcome respite. Jester sends word asking if he's busy or if he'd like to check what they've found... and when he knocks, the house will fall suddenly silent before voices (Jester’s and Nott’s) will erupt, all in different degrees of panic and enthusiasm, “ _Essek is HERE!!!_ ” followed by sounds of mad scrambling and things falling and others things being rearranged and a sheer few seconds of chaos until the another beat of silence and the monk, Beauregard or sometimes the firbolg Caduceus will open the door very calmly and let him in. Then lead him to Caleb’s library.

It’s endearing.

Sometimes, Jester will hug him upon arriving. Or Caduceus will thrust a bowl of soup at him ("you look a little worn out, have some fruits"). Or Beauregard will try to make awkward conversation while the half-orc Fjord encourages her on. Or the only other Xorhassian, Yasha will keep him company through an shared awkward silence until someone else comes to relieve it. Or Nott will talk about _how smart Caleb is_ and _how Caleb is destined for great things_ and it truly is, in many ways, more authentic than the Den politics and family customs he has witnessed around the Dynasty.

One time, while he was waiting in their library, going through their small collection of ... _interesting_ tales (what even was “Tusk Love”? And why did Jester recommend it so much?) when Caleb was out with Jester and Beau to buy supplies, the tall firbolg in their group knocked on the door.

“Mister Shadowhand you’ve been awfully lonely up here,” he said, standing at the doorway with two cups of hot beverage, “can I interest you in some tea?”

“By all means” Essek gestured to the seat in front of him.

“I did want to talk to you, only a little bit if you didn’t mind,” Caduceus said, handing over the beverage, “it’s about Mister Caleb.”

“Is it now?” Essek raised a brow, although he anticipates the question. He hasn’t been that obvious has he?

“I simply…” Caduceus took a sip, “you two are fond of each other.”

The firbolg’s eyes are too wise and Essek realizes that denying itself would be an act of admittance.

“It would seem so.” Essek shrugs, taking a sip from his cup. It tastes better than he expected.

“If I might ask… what are your intentions with him?”

“Intentions?”

“Yes, he… do you reckon it’s just harmlessly, something casual or… if you’ll forgive my crass language but are you playing with his affections? I hope you’ll tell him if you are.”

Essek doesn't reply. Merely stare back.

“I know…” Caduceus smiles gently, “I know his sentiments towards you are… genuine. And yours are too, but..” he frowns.

Something about the way Caduceus says it— _his sentiments towards you are genuine_ — it feels like being kicked in the chest with a thunderbolt, like an alarm going off in his head, his eyes widening in shock.

“But?” is the only thing he can say.

“But something is holding you back, I can’t tell what but… something is. I hope you won’t use it to hurt him.”

“I assure you,” Essek places the cup down, “I have no intentions of hurting Caleb.” he says, perhaps a little too curtly.

“I believe you,” Caduceus says, either unaware or blatantly ignoring Essek’s hostility, “but I also believe it’s hurting you as well.”

That causes Essek to flinch in surprise.

"I see..." Caduceus smiles, not maliciously but in a gentle somewhat motherly way, “Be kind to each other, Shadowhand. Be kind to yourself.” he says, before standing up and disappearing into the household.

—

Because it’s entirely too easy to converse with Caleb —about magic and philosophy and discuss the consequences, the ruins that permeated the Age of Arcanum, its also entirely too easy to stay in the library and forget the passage of time and the world outside of it.

“He likes you,” Caleb says, half-surprised when his cat headbutts Essek’s side and makes an oddly familiar vibrating noise deep inside it’s ribcage.

“He’s lovely,” Essek remarks, opening his palm for the cat to sniff before it jumps onto Essek’s lap and starts kneading biscuits there. He reaches out experimentally and scratches under the cat’s chin. The cat’s immediate response is snuggling closer to Essek, extending its neck and purring even louder than before.

“How… did you know to do that?” Caleb asks, curiosity and amusement lining his features, “I haven’t seen many cats around Roshona.”

“They’re a rare breed around these parts,” Essek agrees, “As for… well, when I was a child a moorbounder gave birth in my family’s farm during a very bad storm. By the time we found them the next morning, the three cubs were already orphaned. Only one of them survived the end of the week.” Essek shrugs, a soft nostalgia overcoming him as he pondered on memories he hadn’t recollected in a long time, “my mother and I were the only ones left at the farm so we raised her together. My mother wanted to sell her, but I had already named her and I compelled my mother to let her stay. She was very lively. Nihfe loved being scratched under the chin. I wondered if your... _cat_ would have a similar response.”

“Ja, when I had Jannik… I myself have also wondered if cats and moorbounders share some ancestry,” Caleb says agreeably and then asks, “how did you convince your mother?”

“Why by crying, of course.” Essek smiles mischievously, “and by the time I was sixteen, my mother was entirely too fond of Nihfe than she was of me.”

“Devious” Caleb laughs, watching Frumpkin curl up on Essek’s lap and prepare to take a nap, “we had a family cat too, back in the Zemni Fields. Frumkin is named after her.”

“He's fey isn’t he?” Essek wonders aloud, unable to stop running his hands through Frumpkin’s fur, “he’s so soft… how long have you had him?”

“ _Ja,_ and he’s been with me for four years now. It’s very comforting when he does that, no?” he says, pointing to Frumpkin resting his head on Essek’s palm, one arm slung posessively over his wrist, purring away in peace, “did Nihfe do anything ...similar?”

“O yes, she was… huge,” Caleb watches as Essek’s face breaks into fond exasperation the more he speaks, “she would nudge me with her head, enough force to push me over and flop onto the ground next to me with her belly up. She was a marvellous creature. Wouldn’t move until she’s had her fill of belly-rubs. They are not easily domesticated, moorbounders. But she was gentle.”

“You miss her…” Caleb says softly, “....and your mother too…”

Essek’s mouth forms a tight line. These are not memories he shares lightly, and even then... Caleb senses the tension and immediately pulls back.

“That was presumptuous of me, Essek. I didn’t mean to—”

“No it’s alright. I do miss them, Caleb” He says, letting Frumkin’s gentle purring coax him into the comfort of his yesteryears, “as one misses what they used to have. It has been ages, but losing family is always… difficult. Nihfe passed away not a week after my mother did. I was… what, twenty years old then? I moved to Roshona after that and one thing led to another and, well…” Essek straightens his spine, “here I am.”

“And here you are,” Caleb repeats, blinking slowly. His eyes stay fixated on Essek’s, almost searching. Essek can’t tell if he’s found whatever it was that he was seeking, “Shadowhand Essek, do you ever wants something you cannot have?”

“Often,” he replies honestly, not shying away from Caleb’s piercing gaze, “and most ardently.”

“An object of your affections?” Caleb tilts his head, “how come you haven’t gotten it already?”

“Have you ever lost something that was too precious to lose, Caleb?” Essek asks instead.

Caleb swallows, eyes glazing over for a second before refocusing on Essek’s. “Yes” he answers, simply.

“Then you already know why.” Essek’s voice sounds infinitely sadder to his own ears and Caleb looks away just then. The space between them suddenly feels like it a stretch of endless seas.

Caleb gives Essek a tight smile, about to say something perhaps poignant, perhaps inspirational— Essek will never find out. A knock interrupts them, then.

“Hi,” Caduceus’s soothing voice booms from the doorway, “just wanted to check in since it’s getting late, Shadowhand Essek would you like to stay for dinner?”

“No, thank you." he politely declines, "I should be going.”

“You couldn’t persuade him to stay, Caduceus.” Caleb says absentmindedly, facing away from the two of them as he rifles some papers under the desk, “unless dinner has blood moonberries in it? Essek would like that, you love blood moonberries, _ja?_ ”

He doesn’t give Essek time to reply, instead draws a pouch from the side and from it, he produces a beautiful feather— no, not a feather. A quill. 

It is beautiful. Midnight purple at the base of the quill melting into soft blues the colour of Caleb’s scarf ( _the colour of Caleb’s eyes_ ) that run through the entirety of the feather, red speckles breaking the flow at the tip. It’s entirely too beautiful to have been artificially manufactured. And too perfect to have belonged to any common bird.

“We ran into a roc on our way to Bazoxxan,” Caleb says, holding it out for Essek to see, “When I saw this feather, I…. I managed to scavenge it from it’s nest. It reminded me of you.” Caleb clears his throat then, looking a bit nervous, “Beauregard helped find the shop that turned it into a proper quill.”

“It is...” Essek’s voice comes out breathy and if he isn’t careful, he fears he might show too much when he meets Caleb’s eyes. Holding the quill feels like holding something entirely too delicate and it scares Essek what he _wants_ it to mean but also dare not let himself think that... that...

“Caleb, I can’t…” How can he accept a gift that feels like holding Caleb’s heart in his hands? 

It makes Essek’s treacherous heart want to kiss him.

“No?” Caleb’s voice is small, a sad smile on his lips, “I feel we’ve troubled you so much already and we owe you so many favours. I thought— perhaps something personal. A gift, perhaps. For a friend…” he trails off.

“It is …beautiful,” Essek manages to say. And smile as Caleb’s fingertips brush against his own and linger on the back of Essek’s palms, touch that soothes and burns like the sweetest of fires.

And maybe it is entirely inappropriate, or even entirely uncalled for even. But Essek can’t help it. He can’t help it so he leans in, invading Caleb’s space and yet giving him time to push Essek away if he so pleases. 

Caleb doesn’t. His eyes watch Essek with quiet apprehension, _waiting._

Tentatively still, Essek places a small kiss, a featherlight press of lips against Caleb’s scarred cheek, “Thank you,” he says, his breath against Caleb’s skin and wholly aware of the shiver that just passed through the human, “I shall hold it in my most treasured possessions.”

—

All the way home and even after, the gripping image of Caleb’s smile, his flushed fumbling for words and then— then, his returning peck on Essek’s cheek. Essek has to remember to school his face to neutrality every time his mind starts to wander to Caleb and the feel of his fingertips. The soft press of his lips. The quill that he holds in his hands. Lightly, like it could break. But firm, like he won’t let it.

Is it so wrong .. _to want?_ To want more than just an empty house that hasn’t felt like home in thirty years? To work everyday till his eyes felt bloodshot and tired? To want more than to come back to plants he couldn’t keep alive? He had buried himself in his work… _after._ To deal with the grief. But is it so wrong to … to want _more?_ To want to love and be loved? To want someone, a partner to share a life with… that he will yet again surely outlive?

It feels too much. And too soon. He tosses the thoughts out — _there’s no time for that_ , he tells himself— and focuses on the work he has to finish to present to the Bright Queen tomorrow morning. 

It isn’t until later, when Essek is in bed, untethered and on the edge of sleep that he suddenly remembers that he had _never_ mentioned anything about blood moonberries to Caleb.

There is no way Caleb could’ve _known._

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essek needs advice but has no friends he can trust. Guess who he comes to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I think we will have one more chapter. This one's short but I had to put this separately because the incidents are too heavy to be clubbed in with everything else that is about to happen.

“Uh… guys?? Essek’s here??” Beauregard shouts, looking confused as her eyes run over the Shadowhand and keep flitting back to where the ends of his cloak hovers over the ground.

“How does he do that?” He overhears Beauregard mumble to herself before turning to him again. Essek stifles a smile. “uhhh… we didn’t—” Beauregard continues, “Caleb didn’t know you were coming so…”

“Is Caduceus home?” Essek asks, calmly.

Beau’s brows knit slightly in suspicion, “uh… yes? He’s—”

“Essek? I wasn’t aware we were meeting today,” Caleb appears at the top of the stairs, holding alchemical supplies.

“We aren’t,” Essek replies over Beauregard’s shoulder, still standing at the threshold, “may I come in?”

“Aw shit, sorry! Yeah yeah!” Beauregard opens the door wide, plastering a wide smile on her face that makes it look like she’s in pain, “please come in.”

“Who is it!!!” comes a singsong voice from the direction of the kitchen, “oh Essek!! Long time no see!! We’re baking pastries, _doyouwantsome???_ Caduceus helped and Yasha did the flower but I did the frosting! LOOK!!” she thrusts a cupcake in Essek’s face, “try it!!”

“As enticing as it looks, I must politely decline,” Essek says, smiling formally, to which Jester pouts. She stuffs the pastry into her mouth.

“Anyway!” she says loudly, through a mouthful of cake, “Cay-leb!! Essek is here!!”

“ _Ja,_ I can see that,” Caleb’s cool response comes from somewhere over Essek’s shoulder. There's a small but tight smile on his face, “what brings you here, Essek?”

“Oh, I hope I’m not hindering your daily activities, I’m merely here to discuss a few things with Caduceus,” Essek says and everyone in the room suddenly stares back at him in pronounced shock, mild suspicion.

“Oh, that’s nice!” Caduceus says, happily breaking the silence just as Fjord the half-orc interjects protectively, “Caduceus? What do you want with Caduceus?”

“Is this about what we talked about over tea the other d—” Caduceus starts speaking and Essek is suddenly afraid he will say too much.

“Yes, it is” Essek interrupts, confirming, “shall we?”

Caduceus nods, leading the way towards their garden as the rest of the part watches in varying degrees of confusion. And all the way up, Essek could distinctly feel Caleb’s questioning gaze trained on his back until he was out of sight. But even then, the air was heavy with all the things Caleb wasn't saying.

—

“Can I count on your discretion, Caduceus Clay?” Essek asks, as the firbolg sits down at the base of the trunk of the tree gesturing Essek do the same. Sitting in the middle, in the cradle of the garden, with the soft lights illuminating the night sky, it reminds him suddenly of his mother's warm embrace. It is not some small comfort.

The firbolg pulls out a kettle and starts brewing some tea, “Oh most definitely, Mister Shadowhand. Tell me how you’re feeling and I’ll brew you tea fit to soothe your soul.”

“A tall order, Caduceus.”

“I have been told that I am myself very tall, so I believe that won’t be too difficult,” He stirs the pot, “what ails you Mister Shadowhand?”

Essek looks over his shoulder at the doorway they came from. He _could_ be imagining the shuffling on the other side, but it’s unlikely that it’s mere imagination. Precaution never hurt anyone. He casts a spell in five feet radius around him and Caduceus, engulfing them in a private bubble, just to be safe.

“I hope you understand,” Essek says, gesturing at the spell, “that the matter is extremely delicate in nature.”

“Ah, I suspected,” Caduceus continues to work at his kettle, “this is about Caleb still, isn’t it?”

“It is” Essek confirms, taking a long breath, “I have been thinking about what you told me the other day. Understand that I would not bother you had I… someone to trust who would not sell me out for money. Or worse.”

“I’m honoured that you would choose me to confide in,” Caduceus’s voice is gentle as he hands Essek the tea and folds his palms around the warm cup. And waits for Essek to continue.

 _Trust me it's not out of choice but compulsion,_ Essek almost says but he holds his tongue. He takes a deep breath then takes a good look at Caduceus. And then at the tea in his hands. It's easier to address the brew than another breathing person.

“I was married once.” Even now talking about it pricks the skin like needles, “It was a while ago, thirty three years to be precise. I was…” he swallows, looks Caduceus in the face, “young. Reckless. In love.”

Caduceus’ gentle gaze softens, “What happened?”

“We were married for seventy years. The _best_ seventy years of my life." a smile tugs at the corner of Essek's mouth and he blinks wistfully. The images come in flashes and the memories an overwhelming haze of warmth and smiles and mischief and oh, youth. But too soon, the images are replaced by a cold fist clutching his heart. The message of the Citadel being attacked. The cold realization that his husband was on duty at the same Citadel. The instant transportation and the damage he took for being unable to concentrate.

The unshakable fear.

And then the inevitable guilt when he was too late. Too late to save the man he loved. He holds his chin out in defiance that he will _not_ break down, least of all in the presence of... company. He clears his throat and continues, “ when the first beacon was stolen, the theft that kicked off the war in earnest... my husband he… he perished in the fight to protect it.”

“I am so sorry to hear that.” Caduceus says, his face sympathetic. His gaze soothing, “that is some heavy grief you carry, Mister Shadowhand.”

"Yes" Essek says and silence settles over them in a comforting shroud.

“It is not our way to…” Essek starts, then shakes his head, “We choose someone for life. For the rest of our lives should the both of us be consecuted.” He swallows the lump in his throat, “But the Empire took the beacon and I had to live with the knowledge that I would not see him again, not in this life or the next or any that follow. And I grieved. Then I made my peace with that, if you’ll believe me. But your crew brought back the beacon— _Caleb_ returned it to us. And I was tempted. I looked into it. _I hoped._ But he was gone, not a trace of him in there any more. I still mourn him, I suppose. However, his loss is not why I am here. I am here to talk to you about Caleb.”

“I understand,” Caduceus says, putting the tea aside, “please continue.”

“You see, Caduceus Clay, we don’t pick another mate. We love someone for our lives, as many as they’ll come. Once we lose the love of our lives, we lose them for eternity. My husband is dead, gone.” his voice breaks just a bit there, “but I live. Alone. Like I am supposed to, _without_ him. So you can understand how it complicates things, now that I have grown an inherent fondness for… Caleb.”

Caduceus thinks it over for a long minute, “I understand. It is.. a bit of a mess, I suppose. Your tea is getting cold.”

“Oh” Essek takes a sip. It’s warm and with a tinge of spice. Sweet too. Different from any tea he’s previously had before.

“I am a grave cleric, Mister Shadowhand. I facilitate the passage of those who move out of this world into the wildmother’s arms, as much as I comfort those that the dearly departed leave behind. My family and I, you see, we believe that grief is important. Mourning lets you remember what you lost. It’s healing to rejoice in what used to be. The hurt never fades, it just recedes for the time being. And we carry with us those we have lost. We carry them in our very bones, in our very hearts. The body decomposes and is claimed back by nature. But the love you held for him is not. It’s yours to keep. I suppose you feel like… your feelings for Caleb.. is betraying your husband?”

Essek's eyes stay trained on the ground, shame rearing its' ugly head. "Yes" he says, his voice strangled.

“I don’t believe it is betraying your husband, Mister Shadowhand. Your husband is one with nature. You loved him, love him still. And his love for you is in the air you breathe, the night sky that looks down upon you. It is all around you. Surrounding you. Don’t you think he would want you to be happy?”

Essek had asked himself the same question, but hadn’t allowed himself an answer, “but it’s so selfish, is it not? When I'm allowed to..." his voice fades to an almost-whisper, "and he isn't.”

“He carved his fate, his own destiny through his choices. As you do the same for yourself. It may not be ‘fair’ but it is the way of nature. Isn’t it fascinating that you two got to meet at all? To share a life? Had he chosen something minutely different, perhaps he wouldn’t have met you at all. He chose his path that led him to you, and the path that led him away from you too. He shared however much he could with you, and gave his life for what he believed, I think, is a noble cause. You must give him the honour of his choice, wherever that may lead him. He chose his path. And so must you.” 

“The heart is infinite in its capacity to give,” Caduceus continues, “but it must receive too. You must allow yourself to receive, Mister Shadowhand. Let yourself be loved in turn.”

“Hmm,” he says, composing himself, “may I speak frankly, Caduceus?”

“I’d insist you do, Mister Essek.”

“I am not sure how I feel about your friend. Caleb. I saw him the first time and felt infinitely intrigued. Drawn to him. And the more I get to know him, the more I grow enamored by him. I feel myself… getting used to his presence. Slipping into the comfortability of his smiles, his laughter. His _cat._ ” Essek says, raising an eyebrow. Caduceus laughs heartily at that, and Essek lets himself smile too, “but the truth remains. If I let myself love him... Caleb is human. I will outlive him too. And I don’t think I can endure going through _that_ again.”

Caduceus nods, smiling sadly, “then it’s your choice to make, Mister Essek. Caleb is fond of you, only this much I can tell you without betraying his confidence. I sense guilt in you, did you.. ever blame yourself for your husband's death?" Essek nods reluctantly and Caduceus continues, "You can't punish yourself for living. Your husband loved you. He would want you to be happy. He wouldn’t begrudge you your happiness. The dead don’t shackle us, Mister Essek. We are very good at doing that all by ourselves. Perhaps permit yourself some hope, if nothing else.” Caduceus smiles at him, “Be kind to yourself, Mister Essek. And let others be kind to you.”

"In my profession," Essek snorts, "kindness is a liability."

"But not in your heart. Maybe start there."

Essek brings the cup to his lips again, only to realize that he has fully drained the tea. He didn’t realize he was drinking it. He puts it down gingerly.

“Thank you, Caduceus.” Essek says, sighing. “This conversation has been… most enlightening. And the tea as well.”

“Anytime, Mister Essek” Caduceus replies, packing up his tea and kettle, “I am happy to help.”

"Well," Essek says, standing up. He nods at Caduceus, "I'll be going then."

"My pleasure" Caduceus replies, in no hurry to pack his things so Essek exits the garden and makes his way down the staircase. He can tell they are hiding along the walls, waiting for his reaction. Essek briefly considers knocking on the library. Briefly considers talking to Caleb. But he glides past that door.

If he’s going to protect himself, he might as well start this very moment.

“Leaving already?” Caleb’s voice interrupts his descent down the stairs and Essek glances back over his shoulder at Caleb’s silhouette against the library doorway. He stops, but he doesn’t turn.

“I have much to think about,” Essek says, voice calm. And purposefully cold.

He can feel Caleb approaching. A hand reaching out to almost touch him… and then stop. “Essek…” Caleb says, “what’s going on?”

He can feel his nerve endings begging him to reach, to turn. To take Caleb’s hands in his and hold him like he means it. But if he looks back, he is lost. He tenses his hands into tight fists to keep himself from doing something impulsive.

“Everything is great, Widogast.” He says, and his voice sounds hollow even to himself, “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Caleb pulls away,his face a blank mask as he shrinks from Essek’s line of vision. “Apologies, Shadowhand Thelyss. I overstepped.”

Essek nods in acknowledgement. And he is almost there, almost out of the house, almost free when Caleb speaks again from the top of the stairs. “No.” he says, defiant and that one word alone paralyses him and Essek has no choice but to look back.

“You always do this Essek,” Caleb says, his eyes sad and _knowing_ and… something else. Something _familiar_ but so far away, like viewed from behind a veil.

 _“what?”_ Essek can barely breathe.

“Anything goes wrong, _everytime…_ ” Caleb speaks like he has known Essek for years, not mere weeks, “you shut me out and try to bear it all by yourself. If you want to push me away this time. You have to _say it._ ”

There is something familiar in that rage, something… _telling_ in the way Caleb holds himself. Essek can almost put his finger on it, but it’s a fluid confusion. And right now it’s drowning him.

“Tell me to go away, Essek.” Caleb takes a step forward, eyes fiery and beautiful, _“Tell me.”_

“Caleb what are you _talking_ about?” Essek’s voice shakes, barely audible. How can Caleb even know anything about Essek shutting himself away? How can Caleb know anything about what he does 'everytime'? They have never fought before... _have they?_ Caleb stares at him then, frantic, fiery and all too sudden his shoulders deflate, the fight gone out of him.

“You should at least dignify me with a rejection, Shadowhand” Caleb’s eyes look so sad, forlorn as he turns away from him.

“Good night, Shadowhand Thelyss.” He says, without looking over and the last Essek can hear of him are his footsteps that disappears into the alcove that leads to the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly need a Caduceus and Essek bromance I feel like these two are SO different it would be interesting to watch them interact, even if (in canon) neither of them have any idea what the other one is saying. Sorry for the angsty cliffhanger... I wasn't planning on it, but I... do not control the write,,, it goes where it goes...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a conversation they can't avoid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops looks like it's going to stretch itself into one more chapter!

Essek stands for a long minute at the threshold, at the precipice of a choice. His mind is racing. He could leave and not look back. He could go home, go back to his work, go request the Bright Queen to reassign him and never have to deal with these Dynasty Heroes again.

Never have to deal with _Caleb_ again. 

It would be the safer option, the smarter option. To protect himself and his heart; but the mere thought of extracting himself from how intricately Caleb has woven himself into his life is not just merely upsetting— it’s downright painful.

The rest of the house is quiet in anticipation, almost like it’s holding its breath.

Essek closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and arrives upon a decision. He is going to do, what he _hopes_ … is the right thing.

—

Caleb’s head is pounding. A siren’s alarm blaring between his ears and a constant pricking on this inside of his eyes. Flashes of images that he has never seen before, but somehow recognizes. The images now tainted by the wounds inflicted on him in those early years of his adolescence. Phantom pain licks up the side of his forearms, itching. Caleb tries to ignore it, and takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He lets his head fall back against the back of his chair and count the number of buttons Nott has on her necklace to distract himself.

He hasn’t had one of these in a while. They would always be triggered by Tr--no, he won’t speak the name. Names have power. _The experiments that were done on him._ And even then, as a teenager, he would be asked to _not act like a child._ To suck it up and swallow his tears and, and… Caleb resummons Frumpkin and as the cat settles into his lap, purring loudly, Caleb runs a palm through Frumpkin’s fur to tether himself to his reality. 

There’s a gentle rapping on the door. If it’s one of the Nein, if it’s Jester or Nott or even Beau, he can pretend to be asleep and they’ll leave him be. He isn’t in any state to talk about what they’ll want to talk about. Especially not after what happened with Essek just a while ago.

So when Caleb doesn’t respond, the doorknob turns and there’s a low creak as the door opens just a slice. A voice as smooth as honey says, “May I come in?”

Caleb’s eyes fly open. “Essek?” he says with the amount of surprise he feels, “what are you— ach, I thought you left.” He stands up with some effort and focuses his gaze on the mage hovering near the doorway.

“I didn’t. Are you alright?” Essek asks, concerned eyes running over Caleb and Caleb just nods, gesturing for Essek to enter.

Essek hovers, a bit awkwardly like he’s debating on whether to approach Caleb or maintain his distance and for some reason it’s hilarious to Caleb. _He_ is supposed to be the awkward one. Essek was always so suave and polished, it was truly odd, watching the drow hesitate like that. It also leeches all of Caleb’s patience.

“Caleb,” Essek starts, his voice low and form, “I owe you an apology, for my… behavior earlier.”

Caleb lets out a shaky breath, holding himself up by the side of the table, “you don’t have to apologize for—”

“I do,” Essek insists, inching a bit closer for emphasis, “I have been cowardly in my actions and I have hurt you. It was never my intention—”

Caleb faces away, resting his palms on the table for support. “You were using me, Shadowhand.” He says, tired, “and now I have outlived my use. It is simple espionage, ja? I _knew,_ I _told myself_ to be careful. I knew you were just tricking me into caring for you and I still fell for it anyway,” he bows his head, clenching his jaw in anguish and barely tilts his head at Essek, still refusing to look at him directly, “You don’t have to apologize for not reciprocating my feelings, Shadowhand.”

Essek’s eyes widen in his peripheral vision and the drow takes an instinctive step forward, “That is not true,” he protests, “my interests in your skills and your person have never been anything short of authentic, I promise you. Perhaps, I have not been entirely honest with you, Caleb.” Essek’s hand emerges from under his cloak and it floats halfway between the two of them, “will you let me explain?”

Caleb sits back in his chair, the headache receding into a dull throbbing and he focuses on Essek’s face, “will you lie to me?”

“Never,” Essek says with such certainty that Caleb could almost believe him. 

Frumpkin jumps into Essek’s lap just then and snuggles into the cloak. Essek doesn’t know if the cat did it of its own accord or if Caleb asked it to but it’s soft. And snuggly. And Essek welcomes it’s comfort.

“I don’t know what it is that drew me to you Caleb.” He says, “Your first impression in court was enough to arrest my attention alone, but it wasn’t just that. There is _something_ about you… and the closer I got to you, the closer I wanted to get still. At first I thought it was because you were something dangerous, something… unexplainable, not easily figured out. I was intrigued, you see. But the more I got to know you, I realized it was... warmth. I suppose in that way, you reminded me of someone. It wasn’t until we started these dunamancy lessons that I realized I craved that warmth. You are gifted at dunamancy, Caleb; but I will admit that my reasons for teaching you have not been entirely pragmatic. I craved the warmth I felt in your company.” Essek’s eyes helplessly roam over Caleb’s face and consequently soften, “and it didn’t help that you were incredibly handsome.”

“Shadowhand—” Caleb says.

“ _Essek_ ,” the drow corrects, “please.”

“ _Ja,_ _Essek._ ” Caleb continues, a little wary, “why are you uh- telling me this?”

The drow’s lips are tinged with a sad smile and Caleb feels a sudden lurch in his muscles to kiss that sadness away. “I had a... what you call, an _enlightening_ conversation with Caduceus today,” Essek pauses, wondering how to phrase it. “It was about you. But it was also about my husband.”

Caleb’s face falls immediately. 

“ _verdammt_ \- sorry,” he says, lips pursed, “I didn’t-- I didn’t know you were married.”

“I _was._ A long time ago.” Essek stops petting Frumpkin, “He fell while trying to protect the first beacon that was stolen and I had to bury him. In the thirty odd years that have followed there has been no-one since and I made a vow to never… _love_ again.” He swallows and looks at Caleb then, intently, “but I think I’ve already broken that vow.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Caleb’s pulse starts to race just them, carrying, in equal parts, hope and anguish through his bloodstream. Images start to flash again. Images that he once thought were dreams feel vivid, too real. And in those images he sees Essek. Mostly Essek. Smiling, laughing. The memory of Essek’s mouth on his sends tingles through his lips. But he has never kissed Essek before. He _knows_ this. But the feeling is too fiery to be a part of a dream.

Essek is looking at him still, his eyes soft and open.

The feeling is foreign. It’s like looking at Essek through someone else’s eyes. Someone else’s memories. Caleb reaches out a hand feel him, to tether himself to this reality where he is in the library with Essek. Not one where he is… somewhere else, but with Essek too. _Can you ever remember something you’ve never experienced?_ In his memories, Essek looks younger, less stoic, more carefree. There’s a recklessness about him that time seems to have stripped away. In his memories, Essek tells him that he loves him. Tells him a hundred times over in a hundred different ways.

Essek takes his hand, grounding him. In this reality too, he seems to imply the same. The lines between start to blur.

“d-do you…” Caleb breath trembles at the possibility, “are you saying you…?” he trails off.

“Yes,” Essek says, his voice sure and solid, “I do. And it pains me to think that I might…” _outlive you too,_ Essek doesn’t say it but Caleb hears it all the same. Essek shakes his head, “if I walked away today I’d have lost you without ever having had the chance to truly have you. The thought of _that_ is infinitely more painful.”

There is a beat of silence, a moment where time seems to still.

And then, Caleb surges forward and kisses Essek. He probably should have asked. But right then he wanted, he really, _really wanted_. So his hands are on either sides of Essek’s face and he can forget all about the pain in his forearms just then, he can forget all about these memories that aren’t his but feel like so _vividly_ like they are, he can forget everything else in that room and outside it too, he can forget _everything_ but the soft press of Essek’s lips against his because Essek kisses him back with an urgency that feels like it has waited for a milenna as his slender fingers weave into the soft curls of Caleb's hair and pull the wizard closer and closer till their chests rise and fall as one. The kiss tastes like hope, like _love,_ like coming home. It’s calming, its anchoring, it's maddening and all the same, liberating. How has Caleb not kissed Essek before? How has he gone through without knowing... this? Essek smiles into the kiss, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest and Caleb holds his face tighter, almost like if he lets go, this will all dissolve into a dream. It doesn't. And in that moment, somehow the fact that this is _real_ is the only thing that matters.

Caleb breaks away first, breathless and in need of air and smiles faintly as Essek, eyes still closed, leans forward just a little, as if to prolong the kiss, if only for a moment.

“Stay.” Caleb whispers, thumb softly grazing against Essek’s cheekbone. 

The drow smiles, a full smile that Caleb has seen seldom before and even then, he suspects only in those strange memories. “Always.” He says, leaning forward to kiss Caleb again.

—

“Tell me,” Caleb says, his head against Essek’s shoulder, as they sit in a corner of the library that has been cozied up with blankets and pillows, “tell me more about your husband.”

The dinner with the Nein had been most unusual. Jester had squealed and wiggled her eyebrows enthusiastically all throughout ( _“sOoOo... are you and Essek a thing now???” “Essek what do you love the most about Caleb??” “oHHHmygosh Essek! You have to come to Nicodranas with us!” “Have you heard of the Traveller???”_ ) Beau had been the scream “I knew it!” when Caleb finally told the party and she made Fjord pay her five gold pieces over the bet she just won. Yasha would smile softly at Calebwhenever their eyes met. Nott openly threatened Essek (“if you hurt my boy, I will kill you, I will kill you dead!”) while Yeza and Caleb unsuccessfully tried to calm her down. Caduceus smilingly served them dinner (“thats nice!” he said to the both of them, and then to Essek, “I’m glad you chose what made you happy”) and that made Caleb’s face flush, which in turn had the group elbowing each other and taking turns at embarrassing him but it made Essek smile so what the hell. Overall a successful dinner.

“Hmm?” Essek’s voice rumbles. He puts the book away. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything...” Caleb shrugs, wondering. Essek had put the mantle away too, to accommodate Caleb’s head against his shoulder and now Caleb’s eyes wander to the book Essek has just put aside. _The Daring Trials and Tribulations of Ser Taryon Darrington_ , the title reads. Caleb had picked it out for light reading during their last trip and Essek seemed to find it most amusing. Caleb continues, “Did you two go on adventures? How did you meet?”

It takes Essek a minute to answer, so Caleb pulls back a bit. To look at his face. His hair is rustled from Caleb’s fingers and a few white strands fall loosely on his eyes. His gaze is soft, musing.

“We didn’t do much travelling,” Essek says sheepishly, “I myself am not too fond of it and he wasn’t either. We stayed in our corner of The Marble Tomes Conservatory, researching. Learning together. Teaching each other.”

“Seems like you have a type” Caleb nuzzles his nose against Essek’s neck and the drow suppresses a small shiver.

“No, I do not!” He scoffs playfully, “come to think of it, he was my… he was the one who taught me the tricks of dunamancy. He was a natural.” Essek’s eyes soften as they land on Caleb, “much like you.”

“And you still think you don’t have a type, _ja?_ ” Caleb smirks.

Essek rolls his eyes, “fine. You’ve made your point.” he says, unable to bite down on his smile.

“Ja, you’re a nerd.” Caleb says fondly, nestling into Essek again but Essek stills.

“What did you say?” he asks, breath coming out shallow.

“Dat you’re a nerd…” Caleb trails off, gauzing Essek’s reaction, “does that word mean something else here? Is it an insult? Ach—”

Essek shakes his head, “it’s what he used to…” he trails off, searching for something desperately in Caleb’s features and then settling on staring keenly into the wizard’s eyes.

“Caleb,” he says, his features shifting to seriousness, “I am going to ask you something and I want you to answer honestly.”

“Okay…”

“How do you know these things about me?” Essek’s brows furrow, “I didn’t tell you about the blood moonberry. I didn’t tell you about the silverdust… Caleb, _how did you know?”_

“You didn’t tell me?” Caleb frowns, confused. He just knew. He can’t remember how, he just did, “I’m sure you must’ve told me, how else would I...”

“I thought at first you all were scrying on me, but...” Essek brows furrow and he tilts his head inquisitively, “you knew things that I have not told a soul” A small pause, “all but one.”

Essek touches Caleb’s face then, feather-light fingers against his freckled cheek and Caleb can feel his skin flush in response to Essek’s touch. “But how is it possible….” Essek seems to be saying more to himself, “it’s not possible…” His eyes snap to Caleb’s, a sharp curiosity taking shape in the blaze of his eyes, “what else do you know about me?”

“I…” Caleb shrugs, “will you let me try something?”

“Anything” Essek says, without hesitation. He smirks ever so slightly and Caleb hates how his face flusters at that. Tentatively, Caleb cups the side of Essek’s face with his left palm. The skin is smooth, cooler than his own and Essek puts his own hand over Caleb’s, lacing his fingers in the gaps and holding it there. The drow leans into his human's touch and smiles tenderly. Caleb reciprocates and closes his eyes, letting the influx of what feels like the echo of a foreigner’s vision flood his brain.

Fire courses through him at the effort, a searing pain racing through the inside of his skull accompanying the dull throbbing on the inside of his eyes. The scars on his forearms burn and Caleb can feel like body actively resisting the process of recollection, of refusing to open the gateway. But he persists and in this persistence, only slivers of images pass through. An unfamiliar house that features almost continuously. The interiors of a library that looks like the Marble Tomes, many more libraries, food shared over dinner, hands tracing arcane runes, the glow of dunamacy magic— and in all of them, Essek features starkly. Laughing, or smiling— looking years younger not only in mind but also spirit, talking...

“The silverdust,” Caleb speaks, “it’s the colour of your mother’s eyes. You…” Caleb flinches and he can hear Essek concerned voice say, “Caleb, are you alright?” but he sounds far, far away, almost muffled as if Caleb is listening through a thick glass wall.

“A golden star on a tome, you love that book, you broke your arm once when you fell from the window of the Conservatory..." more images now-- rows of bioluminescent trees, hands roughly plucking, breathlessness that comes with running too fast and too long, "the first time you had blood moonberry it was stolen from Den Gherrlyn’s orchard," a can of red spice, Essek's pouting face, "you insisted on paprika in every dish made in our house for a whole month after your return from Uthodurn." The weight of an arm lazily wrapped around his waist, "Your pillow is softer than mine,” Caleb is pushing but the resistance is getting worse, stronger now. He can feel himself tremble from the exertion of holding fast, “I know you have one scar,” he plants his palm to the right side of Essek’s chest, tracing rough fingertips on the velvety fabric of the drow's tunic, right above his heart, “here.” Caleb says, he can feel Essek’s restless heartbeat under his palm, “You got it when you tried your hand at a glaive and almost got killed, I always told you you were reckless, always so reckless.” He can feel scant touches, lips against skin, against fingertips, embraces in the dark of the night, in the light of the day, kisses lingered on foreheads, against the jaw. His own breath comes out ragged, "I think I loved you a lot.."

“Caleb, stop!” He can feel Essek’s grip on his arm, urging but he’s in too deep to turn back. What is this? _Who is this?_

The memories turn, the images getting darker and Caleb has to focus harder to hold on, “it’s the inside of a hall, tall pillars, intricate designs… you are there with me… the Citadel...” In the memory, he can see Essek’s mouth move but he can’t pick up any of the words... and then Essek is gone and, “there’s a commotion, I…” the room is getting blurry and Caleb can feel panic crawl under his skin, _something bad is happening,_ he thinks and he feels himself being cornered by enemies in dark leather, his own movements feel too slow but he manages to take down three of them. He is bleeding, bleeding badly... every intake of breath burns as he casts a thunderbolt, his last spell-slot at another assassin and— just then, a sharp visceral pain smacks against the back of his skull and Caleb is unconscious before he even hits the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally did it! After stretching a sliver of an idea into a 10k+ fic, I finally managed to finish it! :D Thank you for all the support you have shown this story, it means a lot to me. I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Your enthusiasm has been my cornerstone.
> 
> I sincerely hope the conclusion is to your liking! :)

There are voices when he comes to. They are talking amongst themselves but he thinks he caught his own name too, once or twice in their conversation. It is followed by a soft shove on his shoulder.

Caleb winces.

“There is not much else I can do,” He hears a regal voice and it takes him a moment to place it.

Someone mumbles something ( “Will he be alright?” Jester sounds too worried and too young) and for a while there is no response.

“Remains to be found out.” the same regal voice speaks, and Caleb is only just registering that it is the Bright Queen.

He squints. Blinks. Tries to sit up.

“Hey hey easy there!” Rough palms hold his shoulder put, gentle in their touch, “Caleb?” Beau asks, “Can you hear me?”

He nods. His head still aches and his voice croaks, “what happened?” Jester hugs him instantly and replies in a muffled voice that he was unconscious and would not respond to healing. Nott has her arms around his neck too and Caleb can feel the wetness of tears on her face.

Caleb looks around, realizing that he had been laying down on a stone slab in a large room, dimly lit. He doesn’t need to cast Detect Magic to know there’s heavy arcane energy in the air. Symbols of arcane runes are engraved on the walls. The dull familiar light of the pulsing beacon sits in a secured cage. “We had to bring you to the Bright Queen.” Jester says, gesturing behind Caleb and adding in a smaller voice, “Essek said there was no other way”.

“Caleb Widogast,” Leylas Krynn addresses him directly, her gaze curious, “I believe we have much to talk about.”

“J-ja?” Caleb’s eyes land on the Queen and then on Essek who has been standing to Beau’s right the entire time, still as a statue. He gives Caleb a reassuring smile but it’s too stiff, Caleb can tell it takes effort. The only other thing that gives him away is an unexplainable wretchedness in his eyes. 

Caleb does not know what to make of it.

—

Essek stands still and quiet next to the Bright Queen as she talks to them. His eyes wander over to Caleb’s and every time their gazes meet, there’s a hundred things he wants to say to him, and a hundred things he can’t.

Caleb had been consecuted in his past life. This much was beyond reproach. The umavi had used the Luxon’s wisdom to look into Caleb’s connection to his past life and found it… forcefully severed. And then she had performed intricate magicks to bring him back to consciousness.

“Your anamnesis was hindered by artificial techniques in your adolescence,” she declared, exchanging a quick glance with Essek as if to confide in the Shadowhand that she wasn’t aware something like this could have been possible at all. It had not been, not in her multiple lifetimes.

Until now.

“How did the Empire achieve that?”

Caleb didn’t know how. But he admitted that during his early years when he was being trained by the Cereberus Academy, they used residuum to experiment upon him. Essek could see the cold concern take shape in the Bright Queen’s eyes. Not for Caleb, but for what it meant for the Dynasty.

This was a threat like no other. It endangered their ascent to knowledge, to achieving the perfect soul. The Empire had indeed been working on a secret weapon and Essek wondered if they knew what they had created. Worse, if they understood what they had done to Caleb. He clenched his jaw to contain the rage he felt.

“Whatever they did,” the Queen continued, “it had alienated you from your past personhood. And made recollecting… painful?”

Caleb hesitates, sparing a glance at Essek and then nods.

It was a horrid sight, Caleb’s pain. The dangerous hope that had crept up Essek's spine last night when he had asked Caleb what he remembered was at war with how Caleb had looked just then, with his hand fallen limp and his body collapsed to the floor like dead weight. And then it got worse. Essek didn’t ever want to look upon that again.

“With all due respect,” Fjord says, “what does it mean for Caleb, then?”

“It means,” Essek replies, “if he tries to _remember,_ it will only hurt. Perhaps even fatally. The pain inflicted upon him in his childhood,” his voice grows tight with rage that he has to work to damper down, “has had a permanent effect.”

“Can you… undo it?” Beau asks. Caleb looks at Essek with what can only be described as a mixture of anticipation and dread.

“Not to my knowledge, no.” Essek purses his lips, “more research is required in this field to determine a process to undo the damage. _If_ it can be undone.”

“ja, I can try again.” Caleb offers.

“Absolutely not!” Essek snaps, breaking his composure. Much to his own surprise as the Bright Queen's. The image of Caleb lying broken, blood dripping down his nose, the frantic disparity with which Essek had summoned the rest of the party, the feeling of helplessness and pure terror he felt when both Jester and Caduceus tried to heal Caleb— to no avail. Nott had almost charged at him, convinced that Essek was responsible for it. She hadn’t been entirely wrong. Essek _was_ guilty— he had pushed Caleb to do it. He had been the cause of Caleb’s pain. He could have easily been the cause of Caleb's death too.

It was all too vivid and all _too much._

The Bright Queen spares Essek a keen look, her eyes darting between Caleb and the Shadowhand before focusing on Caleb again. “What did you see?” she asks, and to the untrained eye, she very successfully masks her suspicion as curiosity. Not to Essek, though.

Apparently not to Caleb either. “Only flashes of images,” he says, “memories that aren’t mine but feel very intimately like they do.”

“Hmm,” the Bright Queen responds, quite aware of the non-answer, “this is most unusual.” She pauses for a moment, “see to it, Shadowhand.”

Essek bows curtly once at the dismissal and the Nein diligently follow him out. Once out of sight of the Queen, Essek reaches out to support Caleb and to his relief, the human lets him. However, Nott refuses to let go until Caleb convinces her it’s fine and Caduceus vouches for him. The look of ardent disapproval that the goblin gives the drow is not lost on Essek. They are quiet on their way out of the Lucid Bastion but Essek can hear the low whisperings behind them.

“I am him, aren’t I? Your....” Caleb’s voice is sheepish and he hesitates slightly, before tilting his head to look at Essek, “but you already knew that.”

“I suspected,” Essek admits, “but I didn’t _know,_ not until…”

“And the place, the house I kept seeing, ja… dat is your home?”

“Yes.”

Caleb gives a look at the party over his shoulder and then says to Essek, “I have a request. Can you take me there?”

“Now?” Essek raises an eyebrow as the approach the Xorhaus. He had wanted to take Caleb home, but not like this.

Caleb nods, determination overcoming his face. “Ja, now’s a good a time as any. Unless you don’t want me to intrude…?”

“You are always welcome in my home Caleb,” Essek says, “but I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” he tries to dissuade him, “last time you tried…”

“Please” Caleb’s voice shakes at the request.

Essek hesitates. “You should ask your friends first.” he deflects, hoping Den Nein would have the good sense to stop him.

They do.

But they are not very successful when Caleb is so very stubborn. They don’t want to leave him alone and he is determined to not take a step towards their house unless they let him go and when nothing would sway him, Yasha offers to carry a dissenting, pouting Caleb all the way to his bed.

“You have to let me try!” Caleb protests, voice calm and determined, “If I can connect to my past self and Essek says I was _very good_ at dunamancy— then I could.. I could tap into that reserve and save them! Don’t you understand? My parents, I could go back—”

“How would _Essek_ even know?!” Nott throws up her hands.

“Because I used to be married to him, Nott!” Caleb retorts back and it’s only a second later, as the group stares at him in visible displays of shock and disbelief, that he realizes that this is news to them.

“Oh…” Caduceus is the one to break the silence, “oh that makes so much sense. I guess that solves your dilemma, doesn’t it Mister Essek?”

Essek gives Caduceus a curt smile, not knowing how else to react.

“I’m sorry, what?” Beau sounds incredulous. “Caleb... _what?”_

“My memories from the past life,” Caleb shrugs, “the ones I can recall anyway…" He gestures weakly at Essek, "he is in all of them.”

Essek’s heart thuds erratically. _All of them?_

“And Essek’s house is…?” Beau trails off suggestively.

“Yes, where we used to live.” he glances at Essek, who nods. “If I go there, maybe I can unlock more memories? Just like being around Essek alone has allowed me to remember things I wasn’t even aware I was remembering.”

“And what do you think, Essek?” Beau addresses him, stern judgement in her eyes, “do you think he should do it?”

“I think it is dangerous,” Essek says honestly, “and I am firmly against it.”

“Hang on a second, don’t mean to intrude but...” Fjord interjects, looking from Caduceus to Essek, “what did Caduceus mean that _it_ solves your dilemma? What is 'it'? What is the 'dilemma'? And why is Caleb involved?”

Essek sighs. “I think perhaps we should all go inside.”

—

“ _Nobody else?_ In your _whole_ lives?” Jester looks distressed at the thought as Essek relates the Xorhassian traditions of marriage.

“It is not our way” Essek confirms. Yasha frowns slightly and nods, “yeah” she says, sparing a quick glance at Beau who sits perched in her chair, tense.

Beau watches Caleb with careful attention, the wizard who is scratches the scars on his forearms absentmindedly.

“Caleb” Beau says, “ Caleb, are you listening?”

“Ja, I am.” he says, eyes vacant.

“There will be another way, man.” Her voice is softer, sombre, “whatever you’re willing to put yourself through is not worth dying over.”

"Yes it is," Caleb disagrees, voice still hollow, “plus, also. I didn’t die.”

“You don’t _know_ that! None of us know what happened to you!” She says, trying to reason with him, “You wouldn’t respond to any of the restoration spells and fuck man, you were bleeding and spasming and we didn’t know how to help! You weren’t _alive—_ no cure wounds spells, no restoration spells worked! Jester even tried revivify and even that didn’t work! Because you weren’t _dead_ either! How do you think we’re going to deal with it if we lose you?? Have you thought how it will affect Nott? How it will affect Jessie? And Yasha and Fjord and Cad ...and me? How do you think Essek will deal if he loses someone he loved twice over?? You ever thought of that with that smart-ass brain of yours?”

That unsettled Caleb, bringing his glassy-eyed attention back to Beau. “ _Scheisse_ ,” he swore under his breath and then, “Beau, I didn’t realize—”

“No,” Beau says, frowning, eyes watery, “you _didn’t_. If you still want to do it, ever after knowing all this, be my fucking guest, Caleb!” she says, before rolling her staff in her arms and walking away.

Caleb looks down at the wooden floorboards, biting his lower lip before he meets Essek’s eyes.

“I am sorry,” he says, looking genuinely apologetic, but Essek already knows what he’s going to say, knows the request Caleb will make, “please. I have to try.”

“Okay, then.” Essek says, his voice coming out small, fear enclosing a tight fist over his heart.

If what Beau said didn’t sway Caleb, he doubted little else might.

—

“Please don’t try too hard.” Essek cautions as they stand in the threshold of his house.

Caleb doesn’t say anything. Frumpkin sits on his shoulders, purring. Essek has learnt to tell by now when Caleb is nervous. Tentatively, he reaches out and takes Caleb’s hand in his. He gives it a small squeeze and starts to let go when Caleb grasps back. Holding on.

Essek brings their entwined fingers to his lips, gives Caleb’s pale knuckles a soft kiss before he can talk himself out of it. And then he opens the door.

—

“What do I do now?” Caleb’s voice is distraught. He has been looking around the house, trying to remember, trying to force himself to tug at anything, any thread he can. But it all eludes him. He can remember what he saw before, but the further he looks now, there are no new memories, nothing sliding past the wall in his mind. He can’t even find the wall. His forearms itch Caleb sits down against the plush ottoman. He remembers this ottoman from his previous memories. Essek and he had fallen asleep here numerous times. He tries to use that memory as a focal point to pull more. But now he’s drawing a blank.

“What’s wrong?” Essek invades his line of vision, “What is happening, Caleb talk to me.”

“I can’t see it anymore…” Caleb frowns, breathing shallow, “gottverdammt, ach— whatever I did last time... might have severed the link forever. I can’t go to those memories anymore, Essek.”

Caleb sees the look of relief in Essek’s eyes before the drow can even think to mask it.

“Whatever you need dunamancy knowledge for, I will help you Caleb,” Essek says, “it is alright.”

Caleb purses his mouth and starts scratching at his forearms, his nails leaving red welts in its wake as distress radiates from the human in waves. Firmly but gently, Essek untangles Caleb’s arms, holding him from hurting himself more.

“What happened?” he asks, noticing the spray of numerous angry scars for the first time. Caleb always had his forearms wrapped up in bandages. Is this why? The same rage that has coursed through his veins in the Lucid Bastion fills him again. “Who did this?” he asks, voice cool and collected.

“Ah, the empire, where I was trained they… these scars are where they put the residuum.”

“ _Who_ did this?” Essek asks again, eyes trained on the scars maring Caleb’s soft freckled skin. His fingers trace the wounds gently and he feels the rigidity in Caleb’s arms loosen. Caleb watches the drow, a guileless look in his eyes as Essek hold the sins of his past like it’s something delicate. Like _he_ is something delicate.

“Ikithon,” Caleb says, finding that it’s not too hard to say the name with Essek present there. Names have power, true. But somehow having Essek there with him, looking at him, the memoirs of the worst of him the way he is… it makes Caleb feel a bit more powerful than his own fear. “Trent Ikithon." he says, a little less afraid than before. "Archmage at Cereberus. We’ve met one of his. In the Dungeon of Penance, the one that tried to...”

“I recall” Essek says. _Ikithon,_ Essek repeats to himself and files the name away for later. He will have to pull some strings but there will be time for that later. Essek will _make_ time.

"He takes and he takes and he took me and he took those kids..." Caleb swallows uncomfortably, "he took your beacon..."

"but you brought it back..." Essek says, holding Caleb's gaze, "you brought _yourself_ back, that's all that matters to me."

Caleb smiles, but it's a very fragile thing.

“Caleb, I promise you.” Essek continues, “whatever help you need with dunamancy, I am there for you. No favours, no debts. You don’t have to endanger yourself for whatever knowledge you seek, you can simply ask my assistance.”

“That’s not the only reason I wanted this to work,” Caleb admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No?”

“Ja… Essek, I,” Caleb collects his thoughts before looking at the drow, “I was hoping that…” he shakes his head, “you said you were drawn to me because I reminded you of ... him, yes?”

Essek nods, unsure where this is going.

“You loved the soul that inhabits my body now. But I am.. I am not him. I cannot recall his memories anymore. Whatever Trent did to incapacitate my anamnesis, I fear I have pushed it to the brink and severed that link for good.” he frowns, unable to meet Essek’s eyes, “I used to be Bren once, back when I was, uh… a child. Of the Empire. And even before that, I used to be a man you loved, yes?” 

“Yes, you were.” Essek says, and then corrects himself, “You are.”

Caleb shakes his head, sadly, “But now, I am neither of them.” he says, shrugging, “I couldn’t be if I tried. I don’t want to be Bren but I want to remember who I was before. I want to remember _you,_ to remember the life we had. But it seems like I’ve ruined it.” his hands drop like dead weight, “I’m just… me, Essek. Nothing special anymore. What if my affinity for dunamancy were simply because of my previous life? What if I have ruined that too? Ja, I’m just a simple human now, no? An ordinary human dabbling in the ways of the magicks that I am yet to fully understand. I don't know if...” Caleb’s voice shakes just a little, “Can you— can you still love… _me?”_

There’s too much Essek can say to it, too much that won’t be enough at all. He hooks a finger gently under Caleb’s chin, bringing the wizard’s striking blue eyes to meet his. Strands of his auburn hair have come loose from the knot and gingerly, Essek parts the strands of hair and carefully, so as to not startle Caleb, tucks them behind the human’s ear. He smiles tentatively, hoping he can convey even a fraction of what he feels for the wizard.

“I can,” Essek says, holding Caleb's gaze, "and I will."

He leans forward just then and presses the softest of kisses against Caleb’s lips.

The kiss is little more than a simple peck, but it holds the promise of a love that Caleb is unfamiliar with. It’s gentle, not too demanding, but just reassuring enough. Soothing, like a balm. Softness that inspires faith. Essek is wholly giving, holding Caleb like there is nothing else in this plane or beyond that is as delicate or even as deserving of love. It’s a treacherous hope that Essek offers in that kiss. A gentle kindness that permeates the breath they share. And suddenly, Caleb feels all the more richer for it.

When Essek starts to pull away, Caleb chases his lips with his own, unflinchingly throwing those arms around him that the drow had cradled with so much care. He prolongs the kiss into something fiercer, hungrier and then quiets it down to something gentler, mild and promising in it's own right. He kisses Essek back with a smile on his lips, hoping to convey in these kisses everything that he too fears is too much to be put in words.

—

“You won’t know if you don’t _try,_ Widogast.” Essek says, eyes bright. He has come to use the wizard’s surname fondly. _Who knew Caleb liked being called 'Widogast' in bed?_ Essek certainly didn’t. But he did have a lot of fun finding out. He smirks again now, as Caleb unsuccessfully tries to hide the flush that has crept onto his cheeks. It makes his freckles look all the more beautiful.

Caleb can tell Essek is trying to distract him from his anxiety. He has performed all his spells flawlessly so far, even the dunamancy ones that he had learnt before. But a week later and back from their last mission down in Nicodranas, Caleb has felt the need to add more spells to his arsenal. And Essek had happily obliged.

Caleb mimics the stance Essek previously had, still a bit hesitant with his steps. If he finds out his affinity for dunamancy was all because of his connection to his previous life… he… he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He gets images of Essek in his dreams but they are fewer and far between, now that he shares a bed with the drow on occasion and reality has become much like what he used to see in those dreams. But every time he tries to consciously access that avenue through old memories, he is met with… nothing. Not even a resistance. Just… nothing. Whatever it was it seems invisible and intangible to the mind and it infuriates Caleb to no end. He tries not to think about it right now.

“You can do this, Caleb!” Nott shouts encouragingly, “You are so smart! You got this!”

“Ready?” 

Caleb plants his feet, widens his stance and grasps the obsidian dust in the closest replication of what he saw Essek do. He draws the geometric patterns in the air, tries not to get distracted by how vividly they start to glow and with a final flourish, he blasts the spell towards an apple that Nott had stolen from Caduceus’ garden earlier and planted firmly on the desk.

The instant the spell hit it’s mark, the apple withers, decaying rapidly and alarmingly before his very eyes, crumbling to dust.

It didn’t feel any different than the last time he’s done a dunamancy spell. It felt just as natural, just as fluid as any other spell. Relief. A smile tugs at the edge of Caleb’s lips. He turns to look at Essek who has his head tilted, eyes filled with soft admiration and a hint of pride. Essek suavely pushes himself off the wall he’s been leaning on and his smile gets wider the closer he gets to Caleb.

“Wow…..” Nott gasps, taking a closer look at the remains of what used to be a fresh apple, “you are amazing, Caleb!”

“Entirely too perfect.” Essek smiles, kissing Caleb gently at the corner of his mouth like he doesn’t just mean the spell.

Caleb smiles wider, happy. It feels good, _happiness_.

He could get used to this.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh btw, what happened to Caleb when he went unconscious is not some damage that I know the stats for. It could be necrotic it could be neurotic bc I took some creative freedom and completely made that up. whatever it was, rest assured BQ's dodeca magic was enough to bring him back from it. barely.
> 
> my absolute love to @frozengayavocado because they came up with the part about Essek saying that 'it is not our way' and Yasha agreeing. That added such a nice touch, i feel. And also for their fake-dating Shadowgast AU where I read a knuckle kiss and haven't been able to resist putting one in here myself. They are amazing. Go check them out [@thesweetpianowritingdownmylife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/pseuds/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic for these two so i think I'm still getting the hang of the characters. Its honestly so intimidating to write for them bc I rilly love them and dont wanna fuck it up...its very intimidating,,,, so if you wanna come scream about Shadowgast, come find me [@fiovske](http://fiovske.tumblr.com) on tumblr, i'm always down to clown!


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